Rain Dogs
by The Orange Lady
Summary: It's some twelve years after the show ended, and everyone's supposed to be adult and have real lives of their own. Even Scott's got one. So how come Derek hasn't managed to get over some stupid-ass crush for all those years? Sex, drugs and some rock'n'roll too, but only if you squint. Slash and angst, people. Slow burn.
1. Chapter I: How Many More Years

**CHAPTER I: HOW MANY MORE YEARS**

* * *

_In which there is bad cooking and even worse feelings._

* * *

Derek has never seen the point of knocking on doors, but he has learnt to do it for other people's sake. Mostly for Stiles, if he's completely honest with himself, because surprise panic attacks suck. But just because he knocks on Stiles' front door that morning doesn't mean that Stiles will actually open it. Derek suspects he only ever does that if he's within a five feet radius of the door or if he really itches to yell at him. But it's alright. Derek's got his own key, so he unlocks the door and steps inside.

The stench hits him like a brick wall. The air burns his mouth and lungs and makes him want to retch. He doesn't. He powers through it like a fucking man.

Stiles is in the kitchen typing on his laptop and keeping one eye on whatever he's cooking on the stove. The early morning light hits him just right, accentuates his sharp profile in a golden aura. As always, Derek has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep a straight face when he sees him. All of his instincts scream at him to touch and care for the man. Derek's pretty convinced that his inner wolf, that part that wants to claim Stiles and possibly hump him, is a complete asshole.

Whatever is cooking is the source of the stench, it's a bluish tar-like liquid bubbling slowly. There's wolfsbane in there, Derek can tell from the way his skin and eyes burn, but there's other components he's not familiar with. Yet.

"I thought I told you to knock before you came in, Derek," Stiles drawls, without looking away from the computer. It's a beautiful, peaceful morning, but when Stiles doesn't get up to shoo him out or throw something at him, Derek knows that he's in a lot of pain. He is that some days, when old and new wounds act up. Some days are worse than others.

"I knocked."

"What do you want? You didn't brave Fortress Stilinski for nothing. Spill, before I kick you out." Stiles sounds tired. Derek wonders if it's his bad leg or the back injury that's hurting. Maybe it's both, judging from the deep lines under his eyes and stiff movements.

"What are you working on?" he asks. He doesn't mean to sound as kind and caring as he does, and of course Stiles picks up on it.

"New formula," he says and scratches the back of his neck. "It's a concentrate of the new strains of Aconite I told you about. I threw in some mountain ash for kicks. I'm thinking it will go well in bullets, and maybe even smoke bombs. Do you want a gas mask before you choke to death?"

"No, I'm not going to stay long. I'm going on a hunt tonight, so maybe you could do some research for me?"

"Sure. Is there even a chance that I can persuade you or Scott to let me join?"

"No," Derek says. "No way. And Scott's not coming either. He's got the kids tonight, wouldn't miss that for the world." If it was up to Derek, he'd spend the night with Scott and his kids as well. The two girls aren't around Beacon Hills as much as any of them would like, on account of their mother living in San Francisco. It's important that they connect to whatever pack is left for them to connect to. Also, in Derek's opinion, there is nothing better than four-year-olds in the world.

"Yeah, okay. Split custody is a bitch," Stiles agrees in a low voice. "But if Scott's not coming, I sure am. What are you going to hunt anyway? I thought we had agreed on that no one never ever hunts alone anymore."

"No. We agreed on that you never should do something suicidal again," Derek quips back. Stiles shrugs and smirks, and it's a challenge. Try to stop me, it says. Derek growls at him and takes a step forward. Under the god-awful smell of wolfsbane he can smell Stiles. It's weak, but still there. He smells like he always does, warm and tempting, but today also like he's in pain and there's too much of the oxycodone he depends on. He has been taking too much of it lately.

"I think it's a huldra," Derek continues. "I caught the smell yesterday when we patrolled down by the lake. It shouldn't be too dangerous for me. From what I've head, the hulderfolk only ever go after humans."

"These damned Scandinavian monsters again. Why do they keep coming here all the time? Also, let me correct your use of 'shouldn't be too dangerous'. Those critters are fucking crazy dangerous. Remember the Rivera pack from Carlsbad?" Derek nods. "Yeah, Alpha Rivera was taken down by a huldra last spring. It might even be the same one we've got here. And sure, some of them are intelligent and can be reasoned with, but they will have your head on a stick in no time if they feel like it. No way you're going alone. You need actual brains to take this monster down."

Derek is neither impressed or convinced. He'd growl a bit more at the man, but knowing Stiles, he'd probably just mock him for it. There's no way he's letting him tag along. Another week of sleepless nights at the hospital, another pale scar on Stiles' skin, another round of painkillers, and Derek's heart might just give out on itself. He has found a few more gray hairs by his temples, and he swears it's all Stiles' fault.

"Okay. For a huldra we'll need iron. And some of these puppies." Stiles gives him a fistful of brand new bullets. "They contain what's cooking. If you get hit by one of these, you ain't coming back."

Stiles gets up from his chair and limps over to the stove. He moves slowly and heavily favors his left side, which confirms Derek's theory that today is a bad day pain wise. Stiles turns off the flames and pulls the pots away to cool.

"Call me when you get off from work. I can pick you up."

"That's not going to happen."

"Yes. Yes, it is."

Derek is thrown out through the back door. He holds his breath as he walks by Stiles' toxic garden, full of his very own experimental strains of wolfsbane, lichen, Mountain-ash and rowan bushes, and so on. The flowers are looking good, he thinks, they are very pretty for being so deadly. Derek fingers the bullets in his pocket. He dislikes seeing Stiles like this. He should be happy, or at least he should be okay. As alpha, it's Derek's responsibility to make sure all of his packmembers are safe. Now Stiles is barely whole, and it's all Derek's fault.

Derek has no idea of when he started to harbor these horrible feelings for Stiles, but once he noticed what was happening it was already way too late to do anything about it. At the beginning he had thought falling for Stiles was as bad as it got, but it wasn't. The worst part was that he kept falling. And had done so for at least a decade or more. And it wasn't that he stumbled into it. It was a free-fucking-fall.

And the horrible, terrible L-word complicates everything. If only there was a way for him not to fall for Stiles… And it's not like Stiles is making easier either. If Derek thought he was a piece of work back when he was an annoying teenager who didn't know when to shut up, it's nothing compared to what he is now. He still doesn't know when to shut up, but now Derek feels so idiotically responsible for him. The past twelve years have not been kind to anybody in the pack, but Stiles being human has gotten the worst of it. He has scars all over his body, something that Derek never learned how to look away from.

Still, with the fresh memory of his smell still in his nose, Derek can't help but to feel comforted. So he gets back into his car and drives to the sheriff's office, to work.

* * *

_(Okay everyone, this is part one of six(?), and the name of this chapter is form the song by Howlin' Wolf. I hope you enjoyed it! Please comment and tell me what you think!)_


	2. Chapter II: If You Want Blood

CHAPTER II: IF YOU WANT BLOOD (YOU GOT IT)

* * *

_In which there's murderous pets, shameless fluff and build up for the greater things._

* * *

On his lunch break, Derek buys a bagel and drives by the veterinary clinic. He's got some thirty minutes to kill, maybe more if nobody from the station calls him in. Which they won't, because Beacon Hills is a small, sedate town, and today is just another regular Thursday.

He finds Scott busy patching together a rather pissed-off calico cat that keeps fighting him every step of the way.

"Hey Scott, how's it going? Are the kids here yet?"

"Yeah, they're in there with the puppies you found me last week," Scott growls, and nods towards the door to the pet pens. The calico cat takes the opportunity to bite his hand, which sends Scott into a long fit of curses.

Derek flees from the beginning showdown and goes to check on the girls. They are both fast asleep on a pile of blankets and Golden Retriever pups. The puppies are looking good, already more meat on their bones and visibly bigger and happier than when Derek found them in a box by the supermarket down on Willow Street. One of the puppies, the one that Susie is hugging, opens an eye, yawns and then promptly falls back asleep. It's all ridiculously cute. Derek has to tear himself away from the sight some ten minutes later, with a big smile on his face. One second more and he would've gotten diabetes. Scott is sitting on the examination table, peeling off torn latex gloves from his hands. The deep claw wounds are still healing, but his doctor's coat looks beyond salvation.

"I'm sorry I can't join you tonight," he says.

"Yeah, I understand. No problem."

"Have you talked to Stiles about it?" Scott asks. "Did you manage to coerce him into doing some research for you? Has he found anything yet?"

"Yeah, he's looking into it. And apparently he's coming with," Derek says grimly. Scott chuckles. "What's so funny? It's dangerous, and he shouldn't be out there at all. I couldn't talk him out of it. It's not my fault he's an obstinate fucking idiot."

"It's so sweet how he just walks all over you like the door mat you are, you big bad alpha. I mean, there's no way you can make the crippled human stay at home. But maybe he'll give you your balls back if you ask nicely? Have you tried confessing your undying love for him?" Derek ignores the off-hand comment.

"I got the day off tomorrow, so I'm thinking I can swing by," Derek says. "Have lunch and hang with you and the kids. Is that okay with you?"

"That's a great idea. Susie and Mags will be super-pissed when I tell them you were here without waking them up. Bring Stiles while you're at it. Mags has wanted to show off some Lego thingy to him for ages…"

When Derek leaves he leans over the cage with the feral calico cat and growls at it. The cat gurgles back at him, not even the least intimidated.

* * *

It's a slow day at the Sheriff's office. On one hand it's great to be free of teenage deliquents, drunk drivers and so on. Paper work may be boring, but at least it's not actively obnoxious or flat-out lying to him. On the other hand it's horrible, because now Derek has all time in the world to think.

To be completely honest with himself, he thinks that it isn't so much that hunting is dangerous to Stiles. It's just that he himself can't fight properly. Not that Stiles gets in the way that often, he's just… there. And it's hard for Derek to go berserk when every single fiber in his body wants to protect him, to keep him safe.

And of course the morning keeps popping up in his brain, completely unwanted. There's something shattering about that moment in the sunbathed kitchen, a stillness and familiarity that haunts him. What if he had shut up about the monster in the forrest and just shoved Stiles against the kitchen table and kissed him? His mouth would taste of stale coffee and of himself, and would he, perhaps, respond? Would he, perhaps, put his hands on Derek's neck and comb through his hair? Would he get hard?

A hand on his shoulder makes Derek jump out of his thoughts. Fantasies, whatever.

"Wow, Hale, you were far off there. I need you to take the rest of the day off. I tell you, this town is as good as a church choir today. If there's anything we'll call you in again. Flip those papers at home, will you?"

"Okay, boss."

It's two thirty when he walks out from the station. Stiles is already waiting in the parking lot outside the station when he gets out. The windows are rolled down and music is booming out from the car. Stiles smiles broadly when he sees him, makes a suggestive come-hither crook with his middle finger, and Derek has to roll his eyes.

"You shouldn't be doing this. This is way too dangerous." He still gets into the car, and Stiles gets driving.

"Yeah, well, tough," he says. "So I did my homework. Apparently the hulderfolk is known for looking kinda hot. Think supermodel. They've got superhuman strength, a varying intelligence span from genius to absolute shit-for-brains, but they've got pretty much no short term memory. Meaning, if we're lucky we can reason with it temporarily, but it'll still be on our asses as soon as we turn to run. Lore says they can be domesticated. Old Norse werewolf and werebear tribes kept them around traditionally for protection and stuff. Sounds like bullshit to me, but hey, I've been wrong before. I'd say having some bimbo supermodel prancing along the pack is a bonus, but I'm not sure that the crazy dangerous part is worth it. Most people like to stay alive. I think that goes for you werewolves too."

They've left the town already, and are heading towards the reserve. They will be driving a bit further than that, but it's still in the near vicinity. Roads are scarce out in the woods, so they'll take the ones that get them as far out there as possible, and then just walk the rest of the way.

"How exactly do I kill it?" Derek asks.

"Well, there are the bullets I gave you before. You got them on you?" Derek shakes his head. "Ah, well. I got some. Lore says iron is the way to go, but if you can manage to, like, shred it to pieces or decapitate it, it seems to work just fine as well. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but it's doable."

Stiles parks the at the end of the dirtroad that leads to the part of the forrest were the huldra was first spotted by some cross-fit jerk. They walk round the car to open the trunk. Stiles throws a bag with clothes at Derek, and then pulls out his survival kit. Technichally it's more of a zombie survival kit. It got several guns in it and ammunition to last for months, bandages and booze. He checks the guns, loads them and shoves some of his brand new bullets in his pockets.

Derek is still in his uniform, so he's got to change. He can't destroy another set, not again. Alice Norton, the HR and internal services rep, will go medieval on his ass if he has to order another one from her, and as HR and internal services rep she's got the resources to do it properly. Luckily Stiles always keeps a bag with spare clothes in the trunk. They are meant for him, but they kind of fit on Derek too. He strips out of his uniform shirt.

"Will you give some warning before you do that? I'm literally standing two inches away," Stiles sputters.

"Uh huh," Derek replies and shucks down his khaki slacks. He folds them neatly into the bag. It's a cold day, so he hurries to pull on the jeans and hoodie. The jeans are a bit too snug and Derek is pretty sure that the hoodie is supposed to be baggy and not look as if it was spraypainted onto his torso. But it works.

Stiles gives him a lingering once-over and whistles. It's at least fifty percent to annoy the shit out of him, which he succeeds in doing, but the remaining fifty is something soft around his eyes that Derek can't interpret right now. He can't read into it without doing something stupid. It's a very special kind of torture to have Stiles' smell that close, to practically drown in it. But it's still better than evoking the unholy wrath of Alice Norton the HR and internal services rep. They seriously should check if she's possessed.

"Hey Miguel, are we ready to go?" Stiles grins and cocks his shotgun.

Derek wants to tell Stiles not to follow him, but it's too late for that now. He should stay in the car, he should go home and he should be safe. But Derek doesn't get to tell him that. He never does. So he nods, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Let's go find this bitch."

* * *

_(Part two of six. The next chapter will have more action, I promise. Pretty please, leave a comment and tell me what you think!)_


	3. Chapter III: Beware Oh Take Care

**CHAPTER III: BEWARE OH TAKE CARE**

* * *

_In which there are too many monsters and a freezer comes in handy._

* * *

Not that wandering around in the forest looking for a monster is ever particularly sensible, but at least they go about it in a sensible way. While Stiles limps in the general direction that they think the monster might be, Derek circles around him just out of sight looking for trails. It's less likely that he gets distracted if he can't actually see Stiles.

They wander into an old abandoned dump. It never officially was a dump, but people in the 1960's liked to leave their defunct vehicles and white-wares there. Gradually, car wrecks and scrap metal sneak in between the trees , until it becomes an elephant graveyard of crap.

Derek sees the huldra first. It's standing in the middle of a small clearing, inspecting what looks like an old washing machine. The huldra is a beautiful creature. It has the form of a young pale woman with long blonde hair curling down her back in heavy tangles. At first Derek thinks he is mistaken, but the distinct smell doesn't lie. It's most certainly not human. He watches her from a distance, almost stunned, but then she notices that she's not alone. She fixes him with a stare.

"Wolf," the huldra says, and smiles a broken smile that makes Derek nervous. The smile is as far from friendly as possible, and something about it is just not right. It's not just crazy. It reminds Derek of the psychotic murderer he helped catch six years ago. He just knows that it's not going to end well. Any second now, she's going to jump him. Any second…

And that's when he hears Stiles stumble on something behind him.

"Ah shi— ," Stiles breathes, but it's already too late.

"Stiles," Derek cries. "Run!"

And Stiles, for once in his life, limps away without a word, as fast as he can. In that moment, when he and the huldra are staring at each other, Derek can feel the static build up in the air. He won't fight her, if he can avoid it, not with Stiles so close. His safety is paramount. Derek knows the huldra is going to charge him at any given moment. And then she does, and Derek jumps and sprints away. The huldra is fast, but not fast enough. He follows Stiles' scent through the woods, but then it abruptly disappears. He's surrounded by old scrap metal and crates, so maybe Stiles climbed one of them? He can't be gone. He can't be hurt.

"Stiles, where are you?!" Derek bellows. He can hear the light footsteps behind him coming closer and closer.

"Here, I'm here." A rusty door of a huge crate swings open. "Get your ass inside."

"But we need to…"

"This baby is one hundred percent steel. Which is made from coal and iron. This is the only thing that can save us from that crazy bitch. Get in now."

The huge crate really is an old industrial-size freezer, taken out of use and dumped decades ago judging from the ivy growing on it. Derek doesn't argue and climbs into the cramped space. He shuts the door behind him.

The old freezer is just big enough for Derek to stand straight, which means that Stiles has to bend over slightly not to bang his head, but otherwise is practically roomy for a spontaneous hideout. They could easily fit at least one other person in there with them. The air is damp, but thank God, there is no smell of mold.

Something slams hard into the door from the outside, but it doesn't budge. Sharp claws scratch the outside of the freezer as the huldra cirlces them. But she can't get in. The huldra lets out a shrill cry. It sounds like a mix between the cry of a fox and a wailing baby.

"Jesus Christ," Stiles gasps into Derek's right ear. "Do you think you can take it?"

"You got any guns?"

Stiles shakes his head. "I had to throw it when I was running. Sorry."

"Then probably not. Either way, I can't risk opening that door right now. If I can't kill it, it'll get in here and…" Derek won't finish that sentence. He just won't. "I'm not risking that, and that's final. Call Scott for backup."

"Nope, no cell reception in here. Believe me, I checked. Side effect of hiding inside a steel box. I guess we'd better settle in. We'll be here a while."

Stiles leans against a wall and slides down to sit on the floor. He can barely keep his legs straight in the tight space and kicks Derek in the shins as he unfolds them. Derek swears that if he touches him again in that tiny dark space, he's going to snap and throw himself at him. This is a disaster just waiting to happen.

* * *

The hours snails by. Derek tries to listen for movement outside, but there's nothing apart from the wind and the rustling of trees. Not that he can focus on it for too long, because Stiles has started to move around. He's almost shaking, pacing around the crate and fingering on his clothes and the walls. For Derek, this kind of proximity is overpowering. There's no way he can even begin to think of anything else when Stiles is moving and breathing and smelling so close up. Sometimes Stiles even brushes against him in the dark, and it makes him want to push him down on the floor and just... It's bad enough that the borrowed hoodie is constantly infusing him with the smell, there's really no need for Stiles to touch him too. Derek hates being so out of control.

"Will you stop fidgeting?" he growls.

"Sorry, I can't," Stiles whispers. "My leg, it hurts like crazy. I need oxy, man. A couple of hours more without it and the pain will be back big time. We don't want that."

"No, we don't." And then, because Stiles doesn't stop moving: "Are you sure you're not detoxing?"

"No," Stiles sneers. "Yes. Of course I am detoxing. I haven't had anything since this morning. I'm out."

Derek's nose is flooded with the smell of the man's body. Chemicals, sweat and fear. Stiles smells like he is broken. It does unspeakable things to Derek, it feels like someone is tugging his guts out through his toes. The urge to do something, to do anything, is bottomless. So Derek's body acts on it's own volition. He pushes the man into a corner of the freezer. They are both breathing hard now, pulses raging in their veins. His hand reach out for Stiles' hurting thigh and…

"What are you doing?" Stiles barks and pulls himself as far away as the cramped space allows. Derek can still feel the borrowed pain surging through his own veins, tarlike and dull. He only got a little, but it was enough. He groans, inadvertantly. The sensation of Stiles' warm leg still itches in Derek's hand.

"I was trying to take the pain away. Shut up."

"You shut up. Do you think I'm one of Scott's fucking dogs?"

"It works on humans as well."

Stiles starts to say something, no doubt acidic, but Derek muffles it. With his mouth. He just needs to do it. It's easily one of the best and most idiotic things he has ever done. He tastes like he smells, only stronger. Derek tastes opiods, stress and arousal. That last thing makes him dizzy and never want to stop kissing him. Stiles pushes him back so hard he bangs his head against the far wall.

"What the — "

"I'm sorry. I thought it would calm you down —"

"Fucking hell, Derek. Do you think you can just…? I don't even know what that was. Just quit whatever you think you're doing. Don't… just don't do whatever it is you think I want. I don't need you to take care of me, I need you to get us out of here."

As if on cue there is a loud noise outside the crate. They both freeze up. There is a thump and a scream. After that everything goes quiet for too long. Then, from somewhere, Derek can hear steps approaching. He bristles, ready to fight, ready for anything, but then he recognizes the gait.

"Surprise motherfuckers," Scott beams as he bends the freezer door open. He extends a hand to Stiles, who grabs it and climbs out. It's already dark night, but compared to the inside of the freezer it's bright.

"Scott, I love you, and never let me say otherwise," Stiles rambles. "Sweet Jesus, I thought we'd suffocate in there if we stayed a minute longer. Bad time to re-rediscover your claustrophobia, if you know what I'm saying?"

Scott rolls his eyes at the obvious lie, but doesn't comment on it. Both Stiles and Derek must stink of frustration and of each other.

"I thought you were going to stay with the kids?" Derek asks quietly.

"Yeah, I thought so too, but then mom got it in her head to have girls' night. I was thrown out of my home by my own mother and children. Killing monsters in the woods are clearly the only reasonable response. I figured I could help out, so I tracked you here."

"Yes. Clearly. Did you kill it?"

"Nope," he confesses. "I jumped on it and managed to land some blows, but it ran away. I doubt I did anything but scare it off for a while. Why didn't anyone mention to me that it was like ridiculously hot? It's fucking weird to be attacked by a naked supermodel."

Scott looks like he wouldn't mind spending the night out in the woods tracking the huldra as long as he had company, but Stiles will obviously have none of that.

"Guys, can we get out of here anytime soon?" he says.

"Derek can drive you home," Scott volunteers for him. "I'm told I'm not welcome back before midnight, so I'll track the huldra instead. Make sure it doesn't run into town or something."

* * *

The drive back is way too silent. Derek can barely focus on driving. His brain is on fire, and it's all Stiles' fault. He knows he should say something, but what? He doesn't want to apologize, because hey, he was only trying to help. Also: Derek doesn't apologize, period.

"Are you hungry? Do you want to stop somewhere to eat?" he asks, even if he already knows the answer.

"Yeah, but no thanks. Just drive me home."

They are out of the woods, already half-way back to town. The car goes quiet for way too long again, until Derek can't help himself.

"We're going to have to talk about what happened sooner or later," he says. You have to talk about feelings and stuff with people, or so Lydia has tried to convince him. He senses that this might not be one of those times, but he has to try. Or Lydia will skin him next time she comes to town.

"Uh, no, we don't," Stiles says. "What happens in decrepit industrial freezers stay in decrepit industrial freezers. There's nothing to discuss."

"It was wrong of me to try to…"

"Oh my god, Derek. Shut the fuck up. I don't need your pity. Just because I'm weak and annoying doesn't mean you have to remind me I am."

"Is that… is that what you think that was? Pity?"

"Do you remember what I said like one minute ago about not talking about shit? Let's do that."

The rest of the car ride is done in complete and utter silence. That doesn't mean that Derek's stupid mind will shut up though. Does Stiles really think that he pities him? The concept barely register to him. Stiles, who has had a complete grip on every aspect of his very soul for over a decade, thinks the only thing he feels for him is — pity? Derek only thought Stiles disliked him, but the disgust that must follow that belief must be astounding. He struggles to breathe after that epiphany.

As they get back to Stiles' house, Derek remembers about the day after.

"Scott said we should come over to his place tomorrow. Do you want me to pick you up?"

"No, don't," Stiles says and gets out of the car. He looks grim. "Good night Derek."


	4. Chapter IV: Crucify Your Mind

**CHAPTER IV: CRUCIFY YOUR MIND**

* * *

_In which there's lunch, games and the best torture known to man._

* * *

Stiles is already at Scott's place when he gets there the next day. It's going to be so hard to be around Stiles all day, but with the girls around, not even Derek will be able to focus on his own misery. Mags is showing off some plastic Lego toy to him in the livingroom. They're making special-effects noises, but Mags is mostly laughing. Derek can't help but to smile as he takes off his shoes and jacket in the hallway. Susie jumps him before he knows it. If she one day decides that she wants to become a werewolf, she'll be a very good one. If.

"Derek," she mumbles into his thigh. "Hi."

"Hi Susie," he says and ruffles her short black hair. She's quiet and solemn for being four, and just two inches sorter than her older, wilder sister. Derek can't help but to compare them to himself and his younger sister, Cora. They were the youngest in their family too, one of them quiet and the other, Cora, like a tornado. "Where's your dad?"

"He's in the kitchen. He's making lunch. Guess what?" Derek inhales deeply through his nose. "You're cheating! That's cheating, Derek!"

"Pasta Bolongese. And…" It smells like muffins. Burnt apple muffins with vanilla to be specific, but hey, Scott cooking both lunch and muffins is as amazing and uncommon as the unicorn they spotted a couple of years ago. It's a miracle that it's even happening to begin with, so you really can't ask much more of him.

"And what? And what, Derek?"

"Uh huh, not telling. It smells like a surprise."

Susie playfully bites his knee, which there is only one possible response to. Derek throws her up in the air above his head, catches her by the waist and growls. Derek could listen to her giggles all day, every day.

"Derek!" Mags cries out when she hears him. She abandons her lego robots and literally throws herself at Derek. He hefts both of them, one over each shoulder, and makes fart noises in the sides of their waists.

They play tag in the garden, then Jenga, which is something Derek is surprizingly good at, and finally Space Cowboys with laserguns built from Mags's Lego.

Eventually, they end up in the sofa in a big pile, with the kids climbing and wrestling over Derek. He grasps them both in a forced hug and pulls them against his chest. In a few seconds, Mags and Susie are out, warm and worn from all the running and playing. Within a minute both of them are asleep, clutching their small hands in his shirt. Derek can feel himself nodding off too. He can hear Scott and Stiles talking in the kitchen.

"…Did you find out where the huldra went last night?" Stiles asks.

"Nope, I followed it for a while, but I have no idea where it ended up. It kinda went around a lot, away from town, and then I'm pretty sure it swam over a lake to try to lose me."

"And you didn't swim after to check?" Derek mumbles, knowing Scott can hear him through the wall.

"It was after midnight. Mom texted me that it was okay to come back home. Also, it was so far away from town it wouldn't trouble anyone." Scott snorts and he and Stiles come into the livingroom. A stupid smile climbs onto Scott's face when he sees his daughters flung over Derek, fast asleep.

"I have no clue why you haven't got any kids of your own yet," Scott tells him softly.

"You gotta have someone to have them with," Derek says. "Which I don't."

Scott gives him a quick look that is very affectionate but still tells him that he should grow the fuck up and take som goddamn responsibility. Laura used to give him that exact look sometimes.

"You could have. If you just got off your ass and stopped pining about everything, I bet you could have anything you wanted." Stiles gives Scott a hurt glance like he wants to hit him to make him shut up, and Derek can't do anything but to sympathize. "Anyway, lunch is ready."

The burnt muffins are awful.

* * *

Stiles smells like happiness and the kids, and it immediately crowds Derek in the car. Last night seems to be completely forgotten on his part, but of course Derek is haunted by everything. In fact, he can't even stop staring at Stiles when he's looking in another direction.

Despite all the scars and the constant amount of bruises, Stiles always seems so clean. Like he's always only a few hours away from the last shower. His skin looks so soft and — Derek wants to hit himself for even thinking the word — radiant. He seems so perfect that way, like he was made for touching. Even when he's sweating and should be stinking, Derek can't help but to take deep whiffs when no one is noticing. And now Derek can't even pay attention to what Stiles is saying because of the thoughts and compulsions that he has to keep in check.

They are in front of Stiles' house already. Stiles must have already said goodbye, see you later, because when Derek also unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car, he gives him a strange look.

"What, are you going to walk me to the front door? And they say chivalry is dead," Stiles says jokingly. The comment makes Derek snap back to reality and turn on his heels. If no one was watching he would sprint back to the car.

"Oh, come on!" Stiles calls after him. "You get over here. You wanted to talk — let's talk. If we keep going like this the level of awkwardness will rise over nine-thousand and make the world explode on us. I don't want that on my conscience, do you?"

Some part of Derek still wants to run away, to go to some safe place where Stiles isn't. But of course he stops in his tracks. Derek hates what Stiles can make him do with only his voice. It's ridiculous. So he walks back up to the porch and stares the other man down from only a couple of feets distance. Stiles, who seemed so unfazed earlier, takes a step back. He cowers and scratches the back of his neck in a way Derek hasn't seen him do since he was an awkward kid in high school. The smell of doubt and nervousity prickles his nose.

"I have no idea what has gotten into you," Stiles says. "You've got no business… You heard Scott, you should go after someone your own size. Find some nice alpha-girl. Find true fucking love. Have your own puppies so you don't have to borrow Scott's all the time. Buy a mini-van and start your own superpack. That kind of shit, you know…" Stiles stops mid-rant and quietly adds: "Last time I checked I wasn't available for any of that. Plus, you hate me."

Derek feels the air go out of him, like Stiles' words were punches to the gut rather than just words. Scott is right. He should be right, but of course Derek has to fuck up his life in any way possible. This time by not being able to let go of Stiles, the only man on the face of the Earth who is too kind to tell him straight out that he hates him right back. Derek makes the gestures of a defeated man, he slumps down on the porch stairs with his hands between his knees, bends his head forward.

"Come on. Use your words, wolfman."

"I hate you," Derek says, and he means it. Still, it doen't make up for the intense want to put his mouth on Stiles' neck and bite and kiss until he can't take any more.

Stiles sighs heavily. "I know you do. I don't fucking need to hear you say it though."

He fumbles with the keys and drops them twice before he unlocks the door. There is a fragile set about his mouth that Derek hasn't seen before, like he's about to cry. Derek blames that for making him act. Stiles is about to slam the door shut, but Derek has to put his foot in between.

"You don't get to say what I feel. You have no right, you idiot," he growls.

"Come on Derek, have you seen you?" Stiles laughs, but it's hollow and unhappy. "You're more of a real fucking person than I am right now. You've got a steady job — you're a cop for Christ's sake — you've got a house, you're still like insanely good looking, you're stable… Look, I've sworn to myself to never ever say this out loud, but right now you are better at life than I am. If this is your weird-ass way of saying 'thanks, I wanna give back to society now', fine! But just don't drag my fucking feelings into your shit. I don't know if I can handle that very well. Not with you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"No."

"No? 'No' what?"

"I don't understand what you're saying." In fact, Derek's pulse is beating so loudly in his own ears he can barely hear what he's saying himself.

"Have you seen me? I'm fucked up. You shouldn't even want to be near me. You don't want me. You're a real person now and I'm just a loser. There can be literally nothing in me that you can find attractive. Come on, I only do enough freelance work on the internet to pay the rent of this fucking shack, I look like I'm the test dummy on Mythbusters, I'm… after the nogitsune… I'm not thinking straight. Sometimes my brain glitches and I, well, I can't fucking read. The hallucinations never really stopped, and… You want no part of the baggage I'm carrying, wolfman."

Derek takes his word and really looks at him. He's just standing there in the hallway, but his entire being is brimming with tension and unhappiness. His hands are clenched hard against his thighs, shoulders tense and hunched over, black eyebrows doing their own dance of a hundred thousand emotions that Derek can't even begin to understand. Without much reflection, Derek reaches out and puts his thumb over the small white scar crossing Stiles right eyebrow. Somebody's sharp claw left it there years ago, and Derek has always thought it made him look more wild and uncontrollable. More like a wolf.

"If you want it so bad, why don't you just kiss me already and be done with it?" Stiles snarls. So Derek shoves him up against the nearest wall and does just that.

It's a horrible sensation. It's different from that quick stolen kiss in the freezer. This is a real kiss, much more real. Derek gets to linger on his mouth, he gets to really feel it happening. He opens his mouth and pushes his tongue into Stiles'. It's warm and slippery, and everything he'd thought it would be. Derek kisses and kisses and kisses, and eventually Stiles responds. When he does, Derek moans, and has to steady himself against the wall to not wobble and fall over. His dick is already ridiculously hard and only from a kiss. Stiles forces his knee between his legs and pushes up and down, up and down. When Stiles' tongue is not enough, Derek trails his mouth down his cheek and throat, sliding over a thin white scar from ear to clavicle, to stop at a spot of skin where he can feel Stiles' pulse rage against his lips. Derek bites him ever so gently, and shudders at the low moan that it induces.

"You wanna fuck me?" Stiles breathes into his hair. His lips touch Derek's ear.

"Yeah."

Stiles pushes him towards the bedroom, already tugging at Derek's shirt and belt. They help each other out with ridding themselves of the layers of unnecessary clothes, leaving a trail of them through the house.

All the scars from a life time of hunting and being hunted are bared, and for once Derek gets to touch them. He lets his fingers slide down the white gash across Stiles' back, digs into old bite marks on his neck and hips. They are both naked when they fall into bed, apart from Stiles' watch that digs it's cold metal into Derek's back.

As he touches Stiles' waist, the soft warm skin of his hips and inner thighs, Derek instantly knows that it's the best drug known to man. He'll never get enough of this, even if it destroys him. It's as soul-crushing as it is wonderful, Derek thinks.

Derek rolls over, so he's on top. Stiles has shut his eyes and is quietly humming into every kiss Derek lands on his face, neck and chest. Derek grinds down into soft, giving flesh, and just then it's like he's alive for the first time in years. He knows instantly that he won't want to do this again with someone else. This is it. It's almost solemn for lovemaking, but then that's the best kind.

They quicken the pace, Derek grinding down into Stiles, sloppily kissing his mouth and face. He has a tight grip on Derek's shoulder blades, neither pressing him closer or pushing him away, even after he has come. When Derek searches for his mouth, for a final sleepy kiss, Stiles doesn't let him. He turn his head away, leans his forehead against the bedpost. Derek doesn't need his sense of smell to know that something is wrong, he only needs to see the face Stiles makes. It's pain, but not physical. Not only physical. It's a face that is full of regret, of wanting to be somewhere else. Like it wasn't right. Like this wasn't enough.

Derek falls asleep feeling like his heart has been run over by a lawnmower.


	5. Chapter V: Hard Time Killing Floor

**CHAPTER V: HARD TIME KILLING FLOOR**

* * *

_In which there are a lot of wild life and Scott gets to bitch and moan with a good reason._

* * *

When Derek wakes up that morning, it takes him a while to realize where he is. It's the smell and the fluttering beat of another heart that send last night crashing down on him. For a moment there, there are emotional butterflies creeping and crawling all over in his stomach.

Stiles is already awake and laying quietly at the other end of the bed. He smells like a large dose of oxycodone kicked in about two hours ago, so Derek can only assume he's been watching him sleep all that time. Derek looks back up at him, but as he does, Stiles averts his gaze and stares up at the ceiling instead. He doesn't say anything at all, so Derek doesn't either.

"Listen, I need to get to work." It's a lie, and they both know it. Derek is a bad, bad liar.

"Mhm," Stiles grunts, and that's apparently all he's going to say.

Derek gets up. His body feels sore and fantastic in just the right ways, and treacherously so. The bed reeks of sex, and sweet Jesus if that's not going to haunt him. Derek should feel bad. He should hurt to the bone, because that's what he deserves after last night. He looks down at Stiles, who is still sprawled under a blanket and looks like a messy fucklable train wreck of a man. But he doesn't move a fin, and he won't look Derek in the eyes. Derek can hardly breathe any longer.

So he picks up his clothes from the various places they were thrown the previous night. He doesn't find his left sock, but he figures he can do without it. Because he's not staying within a two mile range of Stiles for a minute longer. He can fucking hear his heartbeat from the bedroom, and he doesn't need that in his miserable life right now.

Derek drives straight home and practically swan dives into the shower. The hot water burns the smell of the other man from his skin. The world spins and he feels like he's going to be sick, like he has eaten a bucket-full of Aconite. Derek leans against the cool tiles. His lungs must think he is drowning, because they force him to gasp quickly, lightly, for air, but it doesn't help. He guesses that this is what a panic attack feels like.

The following five days are quite possibly the longest in his entire life.

* * *

Derek goes through the motions, or at least he tries. There's patrolling and paperwork, there's saying good-bye to Susie and Mags when their mom comes to get them. It's sad to see them go, it always is, but he'll see them soon enough. There will be Halloween soon, and they will be coming back then, because what is Halloween without actual werewolves?

Derek works, he eats, he sleeps and runs in the woods trying to get a hold of the huldra. The faint smell of it is everywhere, but he can never find it. He starts to think he's going insane. Well, more insane than he already was.

He doesn't see Stiles, or think about him, or think about that night or that morning, and he definitely hasn't had his heart broken into a billion sharp little pieces.

* * *

When Derek gets home from work one day there is a bear on his porch. It's an honest-to-god grizzly. There shouldn't be a bear sitting at his porch for many reasons, but the one he can't get out of his head is that grizzly bears doesn't wander that far south. But it's just sitting there like it's waiting for him. If Derek wasn't so out of sorts, he would have wolfed out in a split second. So, at first he doesn't know if he should growl at it until it goes away or just shoot it with his handgun. When it sees him, it rises to stand on it's two hind legs and then it turns into a naked, voluptuous woman. Derek is not even the least relieved.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hale," the woman says in a sultry voice. "I'm Tora Johanson, alpha of the Ojibwa pack in Eveleth, Minnesota. I believe you have something of mine."

Derek can't do anything but stare for a moment. She's very beautiful and well toned for a middle-aged woman. And certainly for a were-bear.

"You need to get inside my house before my neighbor has a heart attack," he finally says. He shoos her into the kitchen by the backdoor before anyone sees them, and throws her his jacket, because hello, everybody has a problem concentrating with a fantastic pair of naked boobs in the nearby vicinity. The bear-lady politely drapes the jacket over a chair instead of putting it on. She sits down at the kitchen table without being asked.

"You've come far from Minnesota, Ms Johanson. State your reason for trespassing on our territory."

"You have my huldra. I want her back," she says and gestures, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"We don't have anybody's… wait, that thing was yours? We have been hunting it for weeks."

Tora Johanson doesn't answer, but turns her head towards the door and sniffs loudly, in a very animalistic manner. Seconds later Scott walks in. When he sees the naked bear-lady he blushes like a teenager, which looks funnier than it is since Scott is a grown man of thirty-one. She lifts an eyebrow at him and puts a hand on her hip, but that's her whole reaction.

"Uh, Derek. I didn't know you had company."

"Scott. Get out."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Scott nods shortly and runs off the way he came. Tora Johanson takes a moment, smirks, and resumes their conversation.

"Yes, the huldra is ours. We were attacked by hunters, and she got lost in the woods. The hulderfolk can wander very long distances before tiring. I tracked her to Beacon Hills in hope of finding her."

"You need to get that thing under control. It went after my people! She attacked us and put Sti — one of our human pack members in danger. And you're saying that's your pet?"

"The hulderfolk can be a bit feral at times, yes, but once you've managed to tame them they are the most loving creatures you can imagine. No different from your betas, I would imagine. Sure, their short time memory is good for nothing, but once you've imprinted on them… well, they become different creatures. Astrid has been with my pack for over fifteen years. She cares for us as much as we care for her. I love her as one of my own."

"Well, we had to scare her off. She had us cornered," Derek says and makes a snap decision. "She's probably still out there. You have my permission to go find her. Stay for as long as you need. Just get her out of our territory."

"Thank you, Mr. Hale. I will be gone as soon as I'm done searching. Thank you for your cooperation. Not every alpha would grant such a privilege."

Tora Johanson bows deeply with brown hair flowing like a mane around her head, and shows herself out on the porch again. Through the kitchen window, Derek can glimpse the dark shape of a big black bear running off into the woods. He wonders if he'll see her again. He hopes not.

Derek starts cleaning up the kitchen, washing the dirty dishes that have piled up in the sink, drying them and putting them away. Scott peeks in after a couple of minutes. He walks around the kitchen for a bit, compulsively sniffing the odd smell of bear Tora Johanson left behind and fiddling with his phone, before he speaks up.

"So, eh, new girlfriend?"

Derek throws a plate at him. It would have broken against Scott's head if he hadn't caught it.

"She's a bear, Scott," he snarls back. "She's a fucking bear. From Minnesota."

"Yeah, I mean, so what? When was the last time you had a lady naked in your house? Listen, love will find a way… Come on, can you even imagine of cute your cubs would be? Were-bear-puppies. All black and furry with these huge-ass teeth and…?"

Derek throws a frying pan at him. He doesn't catch that one, and this time it hits him in the head.

"What are you even doing here? What do you want?" Derek asks.

"I went over to Stiles' today," Scott says slowly and pointedly, and he's not sounding too happy any longer. "We didn't talk, but we didn't need to. I could smell it on him as I can smell it on you. Don't expect me to say something about that, because… it's fucking weird that you two… Anyway, you need to get your ass over there and do some explaining."

"No. He made it clear what he thinks about what happened. Don't worry, it won't happen again," Derek says grimly. "So, no. I won't 'explain myself' to him."

"Yeah, well, your loss," Scott snaps back. He leaves soon after that, muttering something about wasting his precious time and slamming the door behind him.

Derek plops down in the sofa with his laptop. There is an email from Isaac in New York, about his job and when he's coming home for Halloween. He responds, and then plays a couple of rounds of solitaire, because he can, and checks his Facebook. And then, because his brain likes to inflict pain on him, thoughts about Stiles creeps up on him from nowhere. There is no stopping it.

It hurts bad to even think about it. Stiles' unhappiness, his pain, when he was in his arms, is definitely on the top ten list of the worst things that has ever happened to Derek. He finally got to know what it felt like, he finally got to be so close to the one person that really matters, and… was Stiles just putting up with him?

* * *

_(Sorry for the long wait! I hope you enjoyed it! Please comment and let me know what you think, a little love goes a really long way!)_


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